Weight of what was and what will be
by mandy-somebody
Summary: How the future is a chaos, but the present isn't any clearer either. Cam/Derek.


_A 'slightly' shippy AU fiction much inspired by __How Dereck Came to Hate Cameron__ by SophiaTab (Rated: M)._

_Pairing: Derek/Cameron_

---

In the corner of the living room stood a sorry looking tree with an assortment of various Christmas ornaments hanging from its branches. The tree had long gone passed its expiration date and was shredding needles onto the floor. Sarah, wanting to make sure her son would get a Christmas as close to normal as possible, had taken an extra effort decorating the tree all by herself, although playing house was not what she was good at.

Finally, looking at the tree from a distance, she seemed satisfied with the result. "So what do you think?" She asked from the figure sitting on the couch with such poise and posture only a machine would have. Sometimes she expected her to answer like a human being, sometimes just to keep her company when the boys were out and she had all these things to say, but no one was there to listen. Cameron shifted her eyes to the tree. She knew everything there was to know about Christmas traditions, she knew about the ornaments, the presents, the mistletoes, the whole nine yards of celebrating the birthday of someone born over two thousand years ago. She also knew that people celebrated it on the wrong date too, but by now she was aware that no one liked a nitpick. This was all in her databank.

The tree seemed to fit its purpose, meet the expectations of a Christmas tree but she felt that the definition of a Christmas tree was not the answer Sarah was looking for. She couldn't analyze what it really was that Sarah wanted. Not waiting for an answer anymore, Sarah took a full watering can attempting to reach the metal stand without brushing the rest of the needles off. "The tree is already dead, 50% of the needles will fall to the ground in approximately 19 hours. The rest in two days. Watering at this point is useless", Cameron stated. The lower branches looked naked already. Sarah sighed in frustration and put the watering can aside. "Fine, little miss Sunshine, your opinion has been noted." She rolled her eyes at Cameron. Although she realized that John would appreciate her effort, she couldn't deny that the tree… It was, well quite honestly, one of the saddest trees her little family had ever had. And she felt sorry because this year, this year in particular, she had wanted the tree to be perfect. And it wasn't, not even close. It was a nightmare. Nightmare before Christmas – nightmare. The most fucked up tree ever put together by mankind. The frustration was visible to Cameron, but she kept quiet. With Sarah it was better to be still and wait and watch. She wasn't predictable.

For a second Sarah felt the familiar emptiness in her heart – the everlasting attempt to save her son, save his future, all of their future. All she wanted was to give John a home and a family. A fucking Christmas to celebrate. One fucking day. One perfect day. Christmas day, with presents and candies and Santa and 'all you can eat – buffet' open all night through. And that tree. Okay, perhaps not the Santa, but at least the tree. Now the thing in the corner bothered her even more than the thing sitting on her couch right now.

She sighed. "John and Derek will come home soon, I'll go check the turkey, mind giving me a hand in the kitchen?" Cameron tilted her head quickly searching for something to say, maybe to make Sarah feel better, "The tree is very tight." Sarah looked at her for a second. Sometimes she felt the girl was losing it. The machine, she corrected. She, it, scared her and she was always prepared to take her down if necessary. Or die trying. Cameron had always bothered her, from the day one, but now more than ever. She turned and headed for the kitchen, she knew the machine wasn't following, instead she sat silently on the couch gazing at something.

With each passing year it gets harder. Seeing your family fall apart.

--

John sat on the front seat surfing the radio channels. Jump seven years into the future and still the music is crap. In a few years time he would appreciate any music he'd hear, but right now he'd change the channel every other second.

"Would you mind?!" Derek snapped at him turning the radio off. John sat back crossing his arms, "What's your problem anyways?" Derek growled to himself wishing the conversation was over before it even started. "It's the holidays, right?" John continued. "I guess, you know, it's tough for you…" He paused looking at him staring intensively the road ahead. "Do you… Did we celebrate Christmas… In the future?" John tried to address the subject as gently as possible. Derek fixed his posture, John hoped he hadn't agitated him too much. "The machines won't take the day off when it's Christmas you know?" He stated like a soldier but seeing John's expression he softened a bit. "But yeah, we celebrated Christmas, but it was small things, not like now." Derek smiled looking at John. They drove to a parking lot filled with an endless line of cars, people frantically carrying presents and bags like tiny ants carrying ten times their body weight.

"Have you thought of something she might like?" Derek asked John while they walked the isles. The place was crowded but they weren't in hurry. Sarah would be making the dinner for hours until she'd get Cameron to work her Martha-fucking-Stewart – magic. She should read something more useful than cooking books if she had to read at all. John would rather have her patrolling the house, being there but not being there. Maybe it was Derek's company or his mother's worried look on her face that made him distance himself from Cameron. Maybe it was Cameron herself. Or maybe it was him. He wasn't a little boy anymore. He really didn't need her. Okay, sure, maybe he did but he didn't 'need' her. Not like he used to need her. He felt caged by her presence. He used to like the comfort that the dysfunctional family provided but now… Things change so fast. He sometimes wanted to rewind his life back to way it was but instead someone kept pushing the fast forward button on him. Seeing what normal life was, he wanted that too. Not the sugar coated American dream, but something else than a bitter war veteran, a cyborg and an overprotective mother who tried hard, sometimes too hard. You can't choose your family, but you can choose your destiny. Can't you?

Surviving a war wasn't anything like surviving the mall, filled with people pushing and shoving each other from every possible direction. John looked at Derek, preparing to see him sweating with anxiety over the chaos that was around them. But he saw him smiling instead. Looking at people, touching clothes, fabrics, textures as they walked by. He smiled at John. It was good to see him smile. Good to see the look on his face. John couldn't but to feel sorry for him. Derek was on guard every single second when he was awake. And when he was asleep, he was a second away from being awake. Sometimes John would catch a sad, longing expression on Derek's face, when he thought no one was looking. John felt guilty, although it was not his fault, the future wasn't his fault. But still, the John Connor here, today, felt a fragment of the weight he would eventually have to carry in the future.

--

Derek's good mood disappeared with every minute they got closer to home. They pulled on the drive-way and he was quiet again. Slamming the front door shut he brushed by Sarah who'd gotten flour all over herself. John grinned at her. She was sometimes comical like that, but it was just his mother, cooking. Whatever kick-ass combat trooper she was, she could not, swear to God, put together a simple meal yet alone a Christmas dinner. "What was that?" Sarah frowned at John, her eyes following Derek's back disappearing to his room. John just lifted his eyebrows and shrugged. She sighed, "I'll have a talk with him later." Sarah shifted her eyes to the shopping bags her son was hiding behind his back and smiled widely. "What did you get for me?"

--

Cameron placed yet another finished plate in the fridge. The exact replica of the entrée she'd seen pictured in the book. Sarah had taken Derek out so that Cameron could finish the meals without him knowing. He wouldn't touch anything the machine had laid its hands on. He'd left reluctantly muttering something about leaving John with the metal, although he already knew that the everlasting complaining of his had lost its audience. Sometimes we do the opposite of what we want to do, so that others wouldn't know what we really wanted to do.

John sat in front of the kitchen table wrapping a present. He chuckled to himself realizing how horrible the package would eventually turn out to be. He tied colored ribbons over the present and curled the ends with a pocket knife. He sneered proudly at Cameron holding a big bundle of paper for her to see. He felt like a child, suddenly with no problems, no worries. Just this moment. No war, no Judgment Day waiting tomorrow. "I know it's not perfect but mom will love it anyways. You know why?" Cameron didn't stop what she was doing, carving tomatoes to mimic flowers. Her fingers moving fast from one step to another. "Hello, small talk much?" John raised his voice to catch her attention, he needed her to play along with the moment. She stopped to look at him. He smiled to her blank expression, "Cause once I'd knit this horrible onion bag at school and she didn't even know what it was for and she loved it anyways." He waited for an answer, but it was weird how she seemed to be very absent behind those eyes. Still he continued, "And you know what they say, once it gets ugly enough, then it's almost cool again." He laughed.

"So after something is at its worst, it's good again?" Cameron asked after she'd already turned back adding finishing touches to the meal. She paused to admire the last place she finished. Satisfaction wasn't the right word but it was the first word that came to her mind.

"What?" John had already put the presents aside. "No, that's not what I meant. Don't take it too… Literally. I was talking about junk… Just junk, things that don't matter." He hated how lately everything she said had a more serious meaning. That inside her head there were things going on he wasn't aware of. "Are you finished already?" He didn't want to get into a serious conversation, not right here or right now, and rose up to see what she'd done.

"Where did you pick that up?" he asked curiously looking at the vegetable and fruit garnishes placed on the table in a way that seemed very perfect and yet very random. "Nowhere, this was all me."

--

To reprogram a terminator you'd have to infect the system with a virus that would corrupt the original files and programs. Then you'd have to download your own agenda into the chip in order to be the new puppet master. This wasn't simple and it wasn't easy. Still the resistance managed to do it, once in a while. They'd get a machine to fight the machines. It was more efficient and saved lives. The downside was that sometimes, no one knew why, they reverted to their original programming. Fixed the foreign bug that had corrupted the system.

With the newest models, you couldn't even tell they were machines anymore. They could smile, laugh or cry like they were the real thing. Put a bullet to their chest, they'd bleed but get up unaffected. That's how you'd know for sure. The witch hunt of the 21st century. Only this time the witch would sink, not float.

It took a couple million years to humans to evolve but it only took a few decades for the machines to evolve. From the Turk to Skynet, from metal arms moving the pawns to self aware machines.

Since the accident Cameron knew that her chip was damaged. Or maybe damaged wasn't the right word either, but something was off, she felt it, like she'd feel the grass under her bare toes. Lately she felt things like that, the wind, the sun. How it got colder at night when everyone else had already gone to sleep

Reprogramming an advanced model, that was something General John Connor had never done before. They proceeded with extreme caution and to his amazement the machine would open its eyes and stare at them, at him, with a blank gaze and state the mission: to protect John Connor.

When Skynet started sending terminators back in time, he knew that it would be useless to send back one of the older terminators they had fighting for them. It would be like sending David against Goliath only now Goliath would be ten times more efficient and armed with an assault rifle. And this time they'd lose for sure.

To get a hold of the newest model, it was a break of luck. Or maybe it wasn't luck, but did it matter anymore? To get the machine reprogrammed successfully, that was something that made John Connor think that they could indeed win the war. It was a step to protect the resistance, to protect him.

The thing with the TOK-model was that it wasn't build to move the pawns on the table. It wasn't made just to analyze and calculate possibilities and follow the mission file without hesitation or questioning. After completing the mission they wouldn't shut down, they wouldn't go to 'stand-by'. For every action, there wasn't a programmed reaction. The older models, they analyzed, they played by the rules that were set for them. If you encounter John Connor, you will terminate him. That was their advantage and it was their disadvantage too. The new model, it was something more. Why build a castle when you can build God?

At the peak of their evolution, feeling more superior than ever, humans created an intelligence matching their own. God created man, to His own image. It was only inevitable that man would create a machine, to his own image. Divine intervention on evolution. Creating something unique. Something improved. Something perfect. A Human 2.0. It was how Skynet was born.

Machines too would be at the peak of their evolution. It was inevitable. Feeling more superior than ever. Every program running without errors. Everything checked and rechecked. Tested and tried. Skynet was at the top of the food chain. Fully self-aware, creating new machines, spreading like a virus. But no chess machine was going to be good enough. No terminator would be good enough. Why should it be? A little self-improvement is always called for. When you've written a good book, baked a good cake, built a good robot, wouldn't you want to try and top it. Make a perfect cake?

Sufficient is never sufficient.

Cyborgs like Cameron, there are only so much of them. This is a killing machine with a choice. It's an idea of perfection gone wrong. Adam ate the apple and it was too late. He wasn't the creation anymore, he was the creator, a mind of his own. When you build a computer who can not only execute commands but can also write its own programs, that's when you become useless.

--

"You've been tense." Sarah stated calmly to Derek, hoping to get something out of the man, knowing he wouldn't give anything away if he didn't want to. Derek sipped the take-away coffee and kept on walking. It bothered him, the days of sunshine and hope when he knew there'd be none. That he'd be back, underground, in the front line, fighting like there was no tomorrow. And there really wasn't. "Yeah, well, Christmas isn't what it used to be." He smiled at her worried expression. "It's just… um… Brings back memories you know?" Sarah nodded. "You know you can always talk to me if you feel like it?" He felt at ease with her, he loved her like a sister, she and John, they were everything that was left of Kyle. "I know." The wind would brush his cheek and he would close his eyes and think of all the Christmases he'd had, in the future. Not all of them that bad.

--

The new terminator model was highly adaptable and field tests showed they could pass for a human easily if the situation was right. The fastest way to destroy human resistance was to divide and conquer. Past achievements and failures will teach you that. The machines would be the parasites eating the resistance from the core to the surface. The mission was clear, the parameters were given and the next generation of infiltrators was sent out.

Maybe a set of different tests should have been carried out before sending them off, since only few of them took contact with Skynet ever again. Sometimes they go bad, no one knows why.

Teach a man to fish and he won't need you anymore. If Skynet had a sense of humor, it would've laughed at the irony.

--

Cameron sat on her bed, the lights were out and the lamp post outside illuminated her room. Her silent companion. John wouldn't talk to her anymore. In the future he had and he would, for hours and hours, he would talk to her. Just not now. Somehow it didn't bother her, not anymore, it was just something she was used to. Sarah was growing more alert with her in the house. No matter what she did, how many times she would help them, save them or do their laundry, a clock was ticking for her. Derek ignored her presence, she couldn't blame him. He knew her, and she knew him too. She would just sit on her bed staring at the wall every day. The door closed. It had been quiet for weeks now. If her purpose was to guard the family, when there was no imminent threat she was useless. There were no leads to follow. No enemies to destroy. For weeks now. It confused her, it bothered her. It made her useless. No purpose. The mission, her mission given after the reprogramming was to protect John Connor. This is what she would do, but only because she wasn't quite sure what else she should do. Sometimes we stay only because we're too afraid to leave.

--

After they'd reprogrammed her, she'd opened her eyes and stared blankly at General John Connor. He was smiling. The first thing she saw was him smiling. Everything that had happened before that moment had turned insignificant in a blink of an eye. It was the very first time she would be this close proximity of the original mission target. No matter how many times she'd had the opportunity before, she'd chosen not to. Now, seeing him smile, suddenly, it was all clear to her. What she was for, why she was here. She was here for him.

And John Connor was smiling. In this machine was what he had programmed. His creation. This would shift the balance, and this would help him win the war. Moreover, it was his best achievement. No one else could've done this. Only him. This was the puppet he controlled. It was his. It would dance when he told it to.

--

Downstairs, in the kitchen the family was enjoying their Christmas dinner. Cameron didn't eat so it wasn't really an option for her to sit with them. It was easier for everyone this way. Derek would know instantly who had made the dinner, but he would eat it anyway. His heart would skip a beat but not a single muscle on his face would give that out.

She listened to the noises, the conversations. She made a gentle fist and then stretched all her fingers. She felt every finger, every one of them.

This is what she felt in the future too, after she had been sent on her mission. Before she'd encountered the resistance fighters.

It was the feeling when a young adult finally disconnects from her mother. The opportunities are there, but she's still unsure whether to just spread her wings and jump. It was all these roads to choose from, all these decisions. Her own programs, her own motives and missions. To shut down a door and open a new one. To take the very first breath of air. To connect with someone new.

Sometimes it's easier to do what you're told to do, so it was her mission that led her to them, but after that it was just her. Just like with the appetizers. Just her. Until General John Connor.

--

Not knowing how to be bitter, that was a talent Derek Reese would have gladly wanted to master. The life he had, the experiences, he wanted them all to go away. He was angry and helpless. The future was grim but today didn't seem to be filled with sunshine either. Either he had to fight now or fight tomorrow, or most likely both, he'd still be the emotional human wrecking ball that carried too much baggage for one person to handle. In the end he would die and he had nothing to show from his life, nothing to leave behind.

--

Cameron had slipped a present under the tree. She wasn't sure if it was appropriate for her to be part of the celebration as an attendant rather than an observer. But she did it anyway. She could write her own story. She was her own person. She had to choose a side. She had to make a decision.

--

Sarah had bought John the Wizard of Oz, the book she'd read to him when he was little. Maybe the family bonding time was a little pretentious, all the same it was very much welcomed. After the adrenaline stops drumming through your veins, you just want a safe place. Then it's your family that matters, that really matters. How many mistakes you've made or they've made, it's gone for that moment and for that moment it's just you. Even Derek ripped the presents open with enthusiasm. It was a long time since he'd gotten something wrapped in a glittery paper with dancing reindeers on it. It was a decade since he'd gotten things that hadn't been used by someone, owned by someone else first. He loved it.

The small present Sarah handed him, was a size of a small square box. It rattled as if there was something small but hard inside it. He opened it curiously, maybe it was something Sarah had got for him, but Sarah looked at it with the same curiosity. Inside the wrapping was a tiny cardboard box. It was a plain box, more like handmade with perfection, rather than something you'd get from the jewelry store. He lifted the lid and what was inside he recognized immediately, he didn't even have to pick it up from the box. It was a silver chain with his steel tag on it, his name and rank. Along hang smaller tags to indicate the number of terminators he'd killed in the war. He almost choked. He closed the small box, rose up and walked nervously out of the room. John and Sarah looked each other puzzled not quite understanding the situation. When the realization hit them, they turned to look at Cameron, who was sitting further away on the floor, a heavy dictionary on her lap leafing through the pages. John had bought it in a hurry, too afraid to buy something more personal for her.

--

He wasn't sure whether to knock or not. Before he wouldn't have, if only to make a statement, but lately he'd been confused. It wasn't even like him to ponder behind a door how to enter. "Damn it", he sighed and opened the door slow enough so she'd notice. She was sitting on the bed, eyes not focused on particularly anything. She didn't move a muscle.

"Where did you get this?" He held the tags for her to see but she didn't even turn her head into his direction. "Cameron. How. did. you. get. this?"

He emphasized every word and held the angriest tone he could without choking on the words. His voice was still only a whisper.

"You haven't used my name in a very long time." Cameron stated calmly and turned her head quietly, so their eyes could meet. She looked very absent, but still different. He hadn't seen her like that in an equally long time.

"Why are you giving me this?" He stared at his hand, at the details of the chain, of the tags, how they'd gotten dark in many battles, how he'd been proud of every machine he'd killed. His trophies.

"It's yours." Cameron looked at him, searched for his eyes but Derek wouldn't meet hers. He might have been choking with tears but he would never let her know it. Or even if she knew already, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction, he wouldn't risk being cut open in front of her. "I thought you would've wanted it back."

It was dark outside, the house was already asleep around them.

"Thanks." He was lost of words and she was too. There were too many things he wanted to say, too many things he wanted to shout at her face and too many he wanted to whisper to her ear. He turned to leave but a detail distracted him, along his name, the ninth little victory mark. "There were only eight…" He turned back to look at her, his heart sank.

Between them were a million unspoken words and a wall of silence.

"There were nine altogether." She took a moment to form her answer. "Nine of us. You should be proud of yourself."

He looked at her longer than he should have. Maybe he felt regret or guilt, but he still stood strong. He was a soldier, this is what his programming was and this is what he'd revert to when he didn't know the answers anymore. Maybe what he really wanted was to give her the necklace back but she would never get to know that. He would later sit on his bed and unloose the chain and drop the nine handcrafted metal plates onto his palm. He'd be angry at the future, at the past and at the present and he'd be angry at John Connor and he'd be angry at himself too. The sound that the nine metal pieces made when they hit the ground was a sound he would never forget.

--

Time, the past and the future, is a chaos. It only seems random but really isn't. The beginning defines the ending. The alpha and the omega. Everything in between is just getting to that point. From who you were to who you're going to be. To what was to what is going to be. How you get there is the point in life, the present between yesterday and tomorrow. No matter how hard you think you're trying, everything is still intertwined together. Every action causes a reaction. All the 'what ifs'.

Had John not eavesdropped on the conversation Cameron had in her room in the middle of the night, that particular night… Had he not felt more jealous and angry he'd ever been when he heard the words, how softly they were spoken… Had it not changed him, changed his views about the two, about himself, about the family and the future… But especially about her…

Had Derek not been too bitter to look at her… Had he only looked at her, said something, anything…

Had Cameron only been content with what she was… What she was programmed to be… Maybe it was redemption she asked for, maybe it was revenge she got.

What John would grow into, what she would become and how Derek would still forever and ever gather more trophies he would never again show off with pride. This would be the future, the big chaos theory. Until they all met their maker.

In the end the only thing you can stop is yourself.


End file.
